Thursday, January 29, 2009

The BOOK has black balled me!

For more than a month I have been cut off from the rest of the world, kept under a rock, flung aside like used trash. Facebook rules with an iron fist and they have kicked me out of the club. Back in December I logged on to “the book,” to see what was up, you know the usual, stalk some people, check out new picks, when dooms day hit. “We’re sorry, your account has been disabled by the Facebook team. Have a great day!” WTF, are you kidding me?

Flipping, flying with rage, I immediately emailed Facebook, demanding to know why on earth they kicked me off. What had I done to disparage their name? Nothing, no response. For the next few weeks I email everyone at Facebook I can think of; customer service, sales support, disabled accounts, help, contact us. Again, nothing. It was official, I had been ex-communicated from the book and they didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know. No warning email, no notification. All I wanted was an answer, even a “we’re sorry, you will NEVER be on Facebook again,” would suffice, just give me something, PLEASE!

It’s amazing how important something becomes once it’s taken away. I mean everyone at one point has claimed, “maybe it’s time for me to get off the book.” But come on – who are they kidding? There was like this alternative world that I was not a part of. Sally Smith from 3rd grade ate sushi for lunch and I DIDN’T KNOW it. The smelly girl at work uploaded pictures of her weird looking dog and I DIDN’T SEE them. That creepy guy from the bar poked me and I DIDN’T GET it. Monumental things had happened and I was left out. What if I meet the love of my life and he wants to friend me and I’m not THERE? These things are so silly yet sooo necessary. As someone who spends her days on the computer at work, I NEED these outlets. I NEED them bad. I’ve become obsessed. I have a new understanding of Brit. Things can spin out of control suddenly and I am teetering on desperation.

The new year hits and still no emails. And it’s Facebook, so of course there is no contact phone number. I mean, who actually does business over the phone anymore? And when I finally did track down the number, they took me in circles. “Please email customer service.” Really, I mean really, did they think I hadn’t thought about that? What a genius idea, let me try that.

To make matters worse, to get my Facebook fix, I’ve resorted to logging onto MySpace. Who the hell still goes on MySpace? Ugh I’m so embarrassed to even mention that. It’s like Andre when you want Dom; the poor mans fiddle; the CVS brand shampoo; payless shoes; American Eagle polos; it’s not the real thing! If anyone is listening out there, please, please take pity on me and let me back in the cool club.

Attraction is not a choice,

Monday, January 26, 2009

Excuse me!

I hate to burst heels bubble, but she has two more years until the real quarter-life crisis happens. As someone who recently turned 25 and experienced a mild panic attack and threw herself out of a plane at 14,000 feet, let me tell you the quarter-life crisis is REAL!!

All of a sudden you begin to analyze your life through a different lens and ponder the choices you continue to make. Unlike heels, my two roommates are in some super duper serious relationships. One is closing in on a year anniversary and the other is jetting off to Australia with her beau next month. I often find myself alone and flying solo on the weekend. Aside from them a lot of my friends in Chicago are coupling off pretty quickly, with more than half of them part of a “we.” And last but not least, my bestest friend from childhood is getting married this August!!!!

I am in the wedding and the last few weeks have been filled with emails about dresses and shoes and bachelorette parties. When are you ordering your dress? Are you ordering two to see which one you like best (yes, because I’m made of money)? Do you like these five inch heels (remember, I’m flats)? When can you fly in for the bachelorette party? Can you put the limo on your already maxed out CC? This Saturday while writing my response to her email I had to stop for a second. K, the bride, just turned 26, is in grad school and has been living with her fiancĂ© for three years in domestic bliss. They have a cat, two cars, an adorable clean condo, a guest bedroom (for me) and structure. I, on the other hand, was currently lying on the couch, hung-over from staying out until three in the morning watching “Grey’s Anatomy” and wishing I had chicken nuggets for lunch. How different our lives were! Why did I feel like the immature 12 year old who refused to grow up and get her life in order. One of my favorite shows, “Party of Five,” places Charlie, a 24 year old college drop-out into a responsible roll. He cares for four children under 17, manages a restaurant and is engaged.

I on the other hand, have no boyfriend, haven’t been to the gym in over a month, went to the dentist today and was so numb I was drooling on myself at work, my room is currently under quarantine as I haven’t unpacked from my 10 day business trip, have mail that hasn’t been opened since December, am late paying the cable bill and owe my 18 year old sister $150.

Yet, after all of this, I am quite content with the way my life is. If I want to pick up and move to Park City and become a snow bunny I can. Nothing is holding me back or standing in my way and I am only responsible for myself. In fact, this morning in the Red Eye, my horoscope was dead on:

  • Jupiter is opposite your sign for a whole year. This means that you'll be doing lots of soul searching. "Should I move to Paris and be an artist?" "Should I date three people at once?" "Should I become a lumberjack?" Keep asking questions.

One of my favorite articles is from Newsweek – “I can do anything, so how do I choose?” I keep it tacked up at my desk as a daily reminder to the limitless possibilities that are out there. Maybe my life is sometimes in shambles and spinning out of control, but at the end of the day it’s my life and I can’t complain! Who said when you turn 25 the fun is over? Please, the fun is just beginning!!

Attraction is not a choice,

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Bill-do the Weirdo.

So in my last post I talked about the "promising prospect" I was going on a first date with on Friday and I don't know if my guy-dar is off or wintertime in Chicago brings the freaks out of their igloos, but this was one for the books, let me tell you. After experiences like Friday night, most people would want to hang up their dating hats, buy a cat named Sprinkles, take up knitting and call it a day. I, on the other hand, not only love these dates, but they provide me with enough fabulous, butt-clenching material for weeks to come. So blogosphere, let me introduce you to the nightmare known as "Bill-do the Weirdo."

I met Bill-do last Sunday at Stanley's when my roomies and I were having a Sunday Funday. My room mates were at the bar grabbing drinks and I was hanging back, awkwardly people watching because I didn't really feel like chatting up the bartender, when said "first date nightmare" entered my life.

He seemed nice enough and confidently strode up to me and struck up a conversation, so I thought to myself, I'm willing to give this guy 5 minutes of my time. It ended up that we had a bunch of stuff in common, both Irish Catholic, both have two siblings, both went abroad to Spain, you get the picture, and I actually started to tune in and give this guy a legitimate chance. We ended up chatting for a while and as I was about to call it a night, I found myself hoping he would ask for my number. As we headed towards the door, he blundered through his amateur attempt to score my digits. To prevent myself from further suffering from his symphony of stutters, I quickly spouted off my number and hopped in a cab, success, or so I thought.

Knowing that hindsight is 20/20, there were definitely signs that this guy was going to be a head case, but since I am trying to "get back out there" and give dating a real chance, I thought that I would just roll with it and hope for the best. (life lesson #1,093,657: Never just "roll with it," This guy was a grade A freakshow and I should have listened to my gut)

Since I would like to prevent others from suffering through such disasterdom, I thought I could bullet out some precursors that hinted towards the verbal diarrhea Bill-tack he eventually sprung on me...

Bill-do the Weirdo Warning Signs:

  • After I gave him my number, he texted me not :37 seconds later, "You're awesome -- billy." You're awesome? Did I meet Ted from Hey Dude by a mistake? Get real brotha' man.
  • The next day he texted me, "Doing some reading before class, but all I can do is think about you." Reet, reet, reet, PSYCHO! Like are you for reals? You met me a hot 8 hours ago and all you can do is think of me? You need to get a hobby, or a friend, or both.
  • Apparently said advice was not taken, he neither got a friend nor hobby, because he had plenty of time to begin badgering me with emails. Apparently, texting wasn't enough but we had to bring our relationship into Outlook. AND these emails were not just any kind of email mind you, they were emails riddled with :) AND this ;) and more exclamations than my eyes ever wanted to see. The subject of his very first email was ":)." I mean, come on, I couldn't make this shit up. I couldn't believe it, I felt like god was playing a cruel trick on me because we all know how I feel about textual smiley faces and that feeling is not good.

Upon reflection, I should have totally bailed. But even with all of these warning signs I forged ahead and planned to show up on Friday night. He picked a good restaurant, Hub 51, so I was excited for that. I realized now that no amount of food was worth the boredom of Bill-do.

First off, he ordered Bud in a can and me a Miller Light bottle. I'm not a snob, but we are at a nice restaurant in a city, we aren't going muddin' down on Blue Hole Road, order a beer, that comes in a glass, like a grown ass man.

He then proceeded to talk about himself for the entirety of the dinner, where he grew up, what his first job was, the names of his brothers and sisters, where he went to college, why he went to college there, I don't even think the guy knows my last name. I was literally counting the minutes till the date ended. When I thought I couldn't take the montage of stories anymore, I excused myself for the bathroom and sent S and M an emergency text that I needed some rescuing.

Once I returned to the table, we started trying to figure out what we were going to do for the rest of the night. I tried to ditch him like a bad habit, but he was impossible to shake. At that point, I knew I needed an intervention. So I told him that my roomies were at Zed 451 and we could go and meet them there. I knew that once I put him within S and M's talons, I would be able to ditch this dud and have a good night with my friends.

I didn't realize how easy this feat was going to be accomplished. We were at Zed for a mere 15 minutes when he pulls me aside and tells me that he "has to talk to me." I thought to myself, oh this should be good, what's wrong with him now? Does he want to tell me another enrapturing story about his upbringing?

He went on to tell me for a solid 5 minutes, how I wasn't paying enough attention to him, that he came here to spend time with me, I was only talking to my room mates, that was unfair and inconsiderate, blah, blah, blah. Newsflash BUDDY -- I don' t like you! I'm not talking to you because you are like talking to robot on crack who just keeps talking and talking and doesn't stop. Sorry but I think my ears are actually bleeding at this point, please leave me alone.

I didn't say any of this, because I didn't have the chance. After he got done lecturing me, he stormed out. I couldn't believe my eyes, it was perfect! I had unloaded this Bill-do thing and I didn't have to do anything!

I went back to our table and entertained my girlfriends with what just happened and after a few minutes of solid laughter, we decided to change scenes and headed over to English for a fabulous rest of the night.

I woke the next day with not one, not two, but three texts from Bill-do explaining how he is so sorry that he "unraveled" last night, that he is so "pissed at himself" and could we "talk?" Talk? Talk! Are you f-ing kidding me?! No I don't want to talk, you are Bill-do the weirdo to me now, there's nothing to talk about.

I didn't respond to his texts because there really wasn't anything I had to say to him. That was a mistake because then he upped the antee and started calling and leaving voicemails. I finally texted him back saying no worries about last night, just think we are on different pages, have a good rest of the weekend sort of thing. Instead of being like, wow, she was cool about me being a creepo, he sends back a spazztastic text of "Oh fine then. Let me know if I can ever be on your page. All the best." UGH. gross.

Well Bill-do the weirdo, thanks for the lovely sea bass covered in a delicious horseradish broth, it was scrumptious, really. Needless to say, you won't be hearing from me again.

No one's getting out alive,


Thursday, January 22, 2009

Quarter life crisis.

Hello 2009,

So we both have been pretty bad about posting lately. Everyone makes those nagging New Year's resolutions, exercise more, eat better, stop smoking, cut back on drinking, and ironically mine was to post more. Clearly, that NYR hasn't been followed so well on my end but hell, January 22 is better late than never. 

I think part of my posting stagulation has been the fact that I've been thinking a lot lately about "quarter life crises'" and the best way to flush these thoughts out into a post. I've realized though that this self-examination should just give way to extemporaneous writing, and instead of plotting a witty rant about the intricacies of being a 20 something year old female in a metropolitan city, it's better to just type it out, so here I go.....

On the eve of a first date with a promising prospect, I can't help but think I'm a 23 year old female who lives in a fabulous city, with two of her best friends from college, working exactly where I want to be working, but finding myself completely lost as to what the next steps are going to be. Do we keep climbing the corporate ladder? Do we go off and teach English in some small hut in the jungles of Indonesia? Do we find a boyfriend? Do we even care to think about boyfriends?

For the first time, we are utterly free in the sense that we earn our own income and are completely capable of sustaining ourselves. There's no mom or dad to answer to, no school work to turn in, we just need to show up to work, do our best and call it a day. 

Realizing this, I started analyzing my friends and thinking about what people girls our age feel like they need to "answer to." Through my self-induced anthropological study, I've discovered the only restrictions I ever see my friends put on themselves is when they feel like they need to answer to the significant others in their lives.

See, here in this apartment, that's not so much a problem. We are all brilliantly single without a constraint in the world, but I wonder, as time passes, is that a good thing? 

It's wonderful to live and be completely free, but is it okay to wander through life without any sort of inhibitor or anyone standing by you to say, "Hey it's NOT okay for you to blackout and start dancing on the bar," or "Baby, you know how much I love you, but drinking a bottle of wine on a TUESDAY isn't the best idea." I think to myself, is it possible to keep cruising through life without any sort of lifeline dictating the socially appropriateness of your behavior, but yourself?

Because, let's be honest, your best girlfriends are your biggest advocates. I know my two, we'll call them S and M, are the first ones to support whatever absurd thought that pops into my head. On a Monday, when I've had a really stressful day at work, and I turn to them and say, "Hey, so I'm going to pick up three bottles of wine, do you guys have anything to do tonight?," S is grabbing the corkscrew and M is grabbing three wine glasses. 

The conundrum is, does this enabling help you figure it out more or does it just allow you to think that your behavior is okay?

Two of my old friends from high school just recently got engaged and I can't help but think that maybe this is something I should be striving for, but to be honest, I couldn't be farther from it. I think of an engagement ring, and although there were so many times that I have dreamt about the day it would actually happen, it makes me feel like I would be selling myself short at this juncture in my life.

Ultimately, as I peel through all these thoughts and try to figure out what I want my 2009 to be, I realize that if it wasn't for my S and M I wouldn't be nearly as happy as I am today. No boy, no male partner, no significant other will ever replace those girls who are in your corner, no matter what happens. Whether I'm walking down Halstead after leaving Kingston Mines and fall in the street or at home analyzing a first date, S and M will be there to pick me up and listen.

I've never been one for cliches, I've never liked pink, I don't like pantyhose, and I've certainly  never been one for "Gurls rule, Boys drool," but if I am going to be lost in a quarter life crisis, I wouldn't take any other way than having S and M by my side.

No one's getting out alive,